


Red Staining Black

by sushisama



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushisama/pseuds/sushisama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is the Grand Highblood, and you are incapable of any emotions but the pitch of black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Staining Black

**Author's Note:**

> Requested on my tumblr. Also, because there just isn't enough of these two out there.

 

"What are you fucking doing back there?"

"Nothing, rustblood." You smirk, amused by the symbol you were drawing in between Rufio's wings using the lovely shade of indigo blood your kismesis had drawn near the end of your pailing. He always found a way to dig his nails into some part of your flesh as he finished, smearing either your chest, back, or hips in the colour of your hemospectrum. You always got him back, though: this time he had an impressive bite taken out of the back of his neck, brown staining the sheets around his head.

He yelled at you the last time you bit him so hard, right beneath his chin, where it was on display for anyone to see. He was asked questions by his troops, his matesprit apparently never leaving such signs upon his flesh of their time spent together. And then he told you how he hated explaining it to his precious Spinneret, that, not only did he have a kismesis, that it was the Grand Highblood, the last person on the world he should be seeing alone. She had mixed feelings about this, having a kismesis herself, and the handful it could become.

You could care less what she thought, though. As far as you were concerned, the Summoner belonged to you and only you. You remind him of this each time you take him, how he fits to you now that no one else could even hope to give him what you give him.

He was territory to you, nothing more. You mark your symbol into his back where it would be hard to reach to clean off, and you think how you can't wait for the day you can carve into his skin, truly claim every part of him. Maybe you would even let him do the same to you, were in the right mood and his damnable matesprit were out of the way. You don't want him in your red quadrant, but you could make sacrifices to keep hold of your property.

Not that any of your feelings for him could be anything more than pitch. The Grand Highblood is not capable of such pity, after all.

"You'd better not get anything on my wings, Highslut," he commands you, taking his head from the pillow only momentarily before sinking his face back into the down.

"I'll get whatever fucking mess on a mother fucker I want," you quip back, running a nail along the base of one of his wings. You grin as he buries his head further into the pillow, muffling a groan. No matter his bravado, you knew exactly what to say and do to get him squirming beneath you (he does the same to you, but you would deny it were anyone to ask).

He flutters his wings a little, more out of reaction to your ministrations than anything else, and you have a debate with yourself if you want to continue enjoying this moment or take advantage of his prone position. He's always so high strung, not just because you could turn on him at any moment and kill him, but also being a leader of an entire army can do that to you. You were quite familiar with that fact. Even during your pailing, it's like the war between the Highbloods and the Lowbloods going on in your own bedroom, the devastation left behind always questioned by the servants. But after you were both done, spent from your battle, you could just see the tension in him almost melt away. You knew he was still on edge, ready for you to attack at any point, but he still made himself comfortable, laying on his stomach, naked on your bed, as if he were in his own hive, and nothing to worry about.

Though you would never admit out loud, some nights, you sped through your coupling just for these moments. The ones where both of you could relax, the pressures of the world around you gone, and the post-euphoric haze clouding your judgment toward one another, that maybe, just maybe, you never had to worry about the day you would inevitably meet on the battlefield to end each others lives.

You would never admit such foolish things out loud because they were far too red and not enough black.

Feeling the need to reassert your Caliginous emotions, you grip Rufio's horns as you lean over him, the tip of your bulge sneaking out to his still stretched nook. He struggles a bit as you mount him, but with your weight and size, it isn't that hard to keep him pinned to the bed.

"Get off, Alistair," he hisses, trying to get out from underneath you. "I have other people to see."

And by other people, he more than likely meant that cerulean bitch. Though it amused you he would come to you first to scratch his itches, you had to ignore the part of you that knew it was because he would spend the whole evening with her, unlike the few hours he'd spend with you.

You lean down to whisper in his ear, "She can have you when I'm fucking done with you." He grunts when you bite down on his earlobe, getting your teeth into his various piercings. You've pulled off a few in the past, and he still has scar tissue from the ones you've ripped out. His only complaint was you lost one of his favourite earrings. You gave him one made out of the bone of a mustard blood (not that you told him where it came from), and you can't help but grin when you see that he still wears it.

Your bulge has completely unsheathed, seeking the warmth of one of its two favourite places to be (the other, of course, was Rufio's mouth). He groans loudly when you enter him without warning, but doesn't stop you as you start to thrust in and out of him roughly. You pull him up to you so the only thing between you two is his gossamer wings. You take hold of his thighs, hoisting him up on your legs as you move him along your length. He reaches behind him, his hands grabbing handfuls of your thick locks, sweet curses coming out of his mouth as he places his feet on your thighs, getting leverage to move along you.

You dig your nails into his legs when he clenches the walls of his nook around you, using his neck to stifle your moan. You keep at your rough and quick pace, enjoying the feel of his tightness, until he flutters his wings frantically, hitting you in the face a couple of times. You stop momentarily, dazed by his fluttering, and in that span of time, he pushes back against you, knocking you on your back before he turns around to straddle your hips. Somehow, he keeps you inside of him through the whole switch in positions, probably aided by his control of his nook muscles (Mirthful Messiahs, did you fucking love that skill of his, no matter how many times you told him not to do it anymore).

Rufio grinned from his new position atop you, his wings spread out fully behind him, catching the little moonlight that filtered in through the blinds. He leans down, placing his hands on your chest as he comes within a breath's space to your lips. "Don't move a fucking inch, Highslut," he commands you, the confidence in his voice one of your triggers. You wanted to dominate him, put him back in his place, but he would put up such a fight. You had to earn him, all of him, and the battle to show this lowblood where he belonged was worth every scratch, bite, punch, all the hits that only put you both on equal ground to fight again another day.

He leans back, his hands on your knees as he starts moving up and down, giving you a full view of him as he takes control. His bulge is wiggling about, winding it's way around yours as you mouth, squeezing the length as he moves. He's growling all the while, anything to hide he's enjoying it, but you know there's no where else he'd rather be for pailing, no one that could fill him up like this. You reach up to grip his hips, your need to have some control too great to just lay here and let Rufio take what he wanted.

His fingers dig into your legs as he glares at you, raising up his hips enough that only the tip of your bulge is in him. "What did I tell you about moving?"

"You really think I wouldn't do anything, mother fucker?" You grip his hips harder, and he grunts when you bring him roughly onto your bulge. You hold him tight to you, moving yourself within him. He leans forward, clawing at your chest as he glares at you.

"I will just fucking leave," he growls.

You grin at him, bucking your hips up, and he bites his lip to hold in the sound that wants to come from his throat. "I don't think you will."

He says something under his breath, some curse to your name or your blood, but it didn't really matter when he started to move again. You keep your hands firmly on his hips, thrusting up into him, this time with no resistance. At some point, you roll over, no care for his wings as they fold oddly beneath him. You drive into him over and over again, and he curls into you, clawing at your back. You're sure your back will be covered in indigo when you're both done, but that hardly phases you, driven crazy by the tight fit his nook is around you.

"We have no more pails," he comments before biting your jaw.

"Fuck pails," you growl, picking up your pace as you're getting closer to your edge. "Better yet," you say through a chuckle, "I'll just keep fucking you." You bite hard on the front of his throat, right where anyone could see it. He grips your hair, trying to pull you off, but you don't let up until you can taste the brown on your tongue.

"Just hurry up." His voice tries to hold boredom, but you know better, as he rolls his head back, a primal scream coming from his throat when you hit him particularly deep. His legs are wrapped around you, moving in time with your thrusts, and you can tell by his ragged breaths that he's just as close as you are.

Rufio lets out one last yell as he lifts himself from the bed, his genetic material covering your stomach. His walls clinch tight one last time as he releases, and it's enough for you. You push into him one last time, filling him up with your indigo juices. You collapse on top of him, taking deep breaths as he wriggles underneath you. He gives a punch to the gut to get you to roll off him, sitting up the moment he has a chance.

You close your eyes for a moment, catching your breath. When you open them again, he's already got his clothes on, stretching his wings out as he moves to the window. You glare at him, angry at his eagerness leave. You want to tie him down, keep him here, for whenever you want him, where he belongs.

But you can't let him see that. That would ruin things.

"Not going to give a mother fucker a cuddle?" you ask mockingly.

He looks back at you, rolling his eyes. "Fuck you, I have better things to be doing than to try to share a bed with some fat ass like you."

You smirk in response, but he gives you no chance to say anything, his wings spread and out the window into the night sky. You watch him go, not even aware of the frown that crosses your lips or the anger at his departure.

As you watch him fly away to that bitch, you bite back the feelings of red staining black.


End file.
